How to Kill a Man in Thirty Seconds

Chapter 22: Shame

His reply surprised me.

My gaze flickered to meet his sombre gaze, before I glanced away, "But what if she's having it worse than I am? What then, Hunt?"

"How could she?" Adrian replied, and my brows knitted in my forehead, "War. Poverty. Corruption. Racism. Religious hatred. Inequality. Abuse. You name it. Earth has it all."

I watched as he fished a flask out of his jacket pocket and took multiple swigs from it. Too many.

"That's not true," I argued softly, sitting up to meet his gaze. And I hadn't meant to get so philosophical but I found myself saying, "There's plenty of good things too... Like love. And everything else that makes us human."

"Love?" Adrian scoffed bitterly to my surprise, "Between a mother and child, sure. But between a man and a woman? It's a fairy tale, Charley." He jerked his thumb at the mansion behind us, from within which the sounds of shouting still emanated, "Think of all those kids right now, and all they want is a one night stand. Animals are biologically engineered to feel sexually attracted to each other; it's a survival mechanism so that our species won't die out. That's all it is. It's lust, Charley. It's always been lust. Not love."

His gaze had dropped to the floor. I swallowed a knot in my throat, wanting to believe his words were untrue.

"I should've known it the day my parent's got a divorce," Adrian added bitterly, "Heck, I should've realized it long before. But I'm stupid. Only figured it out long after they had split."

I hugged my knees against my chest and my gaze flickered away from him in silence. "That sucks," I finally replied, my words barely above a whisper. Silence reigned before I spoke again, lost in thought, "But I still disagree, Hunt. My parents loved each other."

"Loved?"

"Huh?"

"You used the past tense."

The boy truly did not miss a thing.

"That was a mistake," I lied, "Love. My parents love each other."

I swallowed past what felt like a rock lodged in my throat and blinked away tears. I was not about to explain to Adrian Hunt about my father's death. Not drunk. Not sober. Not ever.

I vaguely noticed him nod and murmur so low it was barely audible, "Guess it's just mine that didn't then." Something burned deep in his eyes, before he raised his flask to his lips and downed it in one swift motion.

"Don't you sometimes just wish you were a kid again, Hunt?"

"No," he didn't seem to need a moment's thought on that one, "You?"

"All the time," I replied, "All the time."

"Why?"

I shrugged, "I miss when times were simpler, I guess. I miss how little my problems were- acne, belly fat- those dumb teenage things that somehow meant the world back then."

"I used to have a toe-nail collection," Adrian admitted suddenly, and I realized then just how drunk he must be, "I was so ashamed of it, I hid it under a loose floorboard in my room."

A laugh escaped my lips, "Weirdo."

I thought I saw his lips twitch but it was gone before I could be sure.

"I miss having my father spend time with me too," I murmured, "I miss watching dumb horror films with him. There's this disgusting ice cream we both love. Eskimo. I miss how we used to cross the city together just to get it."

Deep down, a little voice inside was begging me to shut up, shouting that I would regret it if I didn't, but I couldn't listen. I didn't want to. Adrian was listening. And I felt like a volcano that had bottled itself up for centuries that just needed to let go now, even if it left ashes in its wake.